


No Red Roses

by Liadt



Category: Kaldor City
Genre: Established Relationship, Humour, M/M, Rated for swearing, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iago and Uvanov had both agreed they weren't going to mark Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Red Roses

**Author's Note:**

> So to cut a long story short, Iago and Uvanov got married because they had many things in common, like a love of money, power and silly plots. What do you mean 95% of the population in Kaldor have that in common as well and the other 5% are dead?

Uvanov was sat at the dining table, eating toast for breakfast. It was thinly sliced, burnt to a crisp and had the barest scraping of butter on it; just how he liked it. Iago, sat opposite him, wished Uvanov had chosen to eat something quieter and was considering the potential of his scrambled eggs for use as an offensive weapon.

“There’s not an assassination plot against me is there?” asked Uvanov.

“No,” said Iago, gritting his teeth as Uvanov carried on crunching. “Not any serious ones.”

“Good. The last time you had that expression on your face it turned out the supposed threat to my person was conjured up by you to manipulate me into not leaving wet towels on the bed. If I do something that irritates you, tell me.”

“I did several times and it didn’t make any difference. I thought if you used a bathroom away from the bedroom you’d get out of the habit of throwing towels straight on to the bed from the en-suite.”

“I can’t believe you persuaded me to have the en-suite refitted to foil a plot to kill me, using a snake trained to climb up the pipe-work. It must have been a very long day for me to fall for that one,” said Uvanov.

“It may sound like a far fetched plan to you, but I found a record of a similar plot in a Founding Families history. If in the future, one of your enemies decides to become a snake charmer, you’ll be safe from suffering the same fate as the eighth Firstmaster Chairholder. It wasn’t a pleasant or dignified death, but at least her towels were hung up on the towel rail before she died.”

Uvanov rolled his eyes. “Even the Families don’t love themselves so much they’d record what they did with their bathrooms. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with where the towels go. It’s not as if the sheets are gossamer thin. A wet towel is not going to flood the bed. You still have your own dry bed in your old bedroom to go to it if annoys you that much.”

“How romantic telling me to leave your bed on Valentine’s Day.”

“So says the man who didn’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, because, I quote, ‘you didn’t understand why it should be necessary to become sucked into commercialised, money-making scams to prove you care,’” returned Uvanov.

“I recall you agreeing enthusiastically, saying you were dreading going out to a packed restaurant and having our every movement scrutinised for signs of trouble in our relationship.”

“Can you blame me, after that rumour went around that we’d split up? I couldn’t get into my office because of all the sacks of mail full of proposals for you. There were a considerable amount of letters describing, in graphic detail, acts I didn’t think were physically possible. Moreover, why was _your_ mail being sent to _me_ anyway? Did someone forget to tell me I’d been made the secretary of your fan club?”

“I decided to let it be known I always check your post - it’s cut down on mail bombs by ninety-nine percent.”

“I’m leaving my post to you to sort through today: it’s bound to be full of Valentine’s cards for you," said Uvanov, sulkily.

“I’m sure there’ll be a few for you. There are some real weirdoes out there.”

Uvanov didn’t look too pleased at that comment.

“I should know because I’m one of them,” said Iago, with a grin.

Uvanov smiled back, happily. “And they all say you’re a cold hearted psychopath. If only they knew! I might get to see over the top of my in-tray again.” Uvanov stood up and brushed toast crumbs off his clothes. “I’d better be off now; the Tarenists have been mining the roads again.”

“I don’t see the point, when nearly everybody travels by flyer.”

“I know that, but if I don’t do anything it’ll make me look bad. People claiming on their insurance they’ve had a brand new super-voc go up in flames, when their defective dum has been detonated, are bound to drive insurance premiums up and lead to questions being asked by the Board.”

“And someone the public can be made to care for will get blown to bits, eventually,” added Iago.

“True. It’s nice to know I can share these things with someone who understands,” said Uvanov, pausing to give Iago a goodbye kiss before he left. “Do you think sending out a truck, with a laser cannon to blast the roads each morning, will make a difference?” he asked as he disappeared through a door.

“No,” replied Iago. Uvanov was lucky to have him to steer him away from ridiculous security ideas.

****

“Ow! Who the fuck chucked that!” exclaimed Cotton, loudly. He rubbed the back of his head and looked up at the smooth, glass façade of Company Central.

****

“Huuurk!” gasped Merven Ennez, as he slid off a stone bench and crushed his prize harlequin orchids flat in the process.

****

Much later on in the day, Iago was in Uvanov’s study leaning over a large desk studying the floor plan of a processing complex. The study was full of wooden furniture and shelves and the rest of the décor was similarly brown to match. Uvanov had seen pictures of gentleman’s clubs of the past and the only design element he had grasped was that the interior should involve a lot of brown. Uvanov came into the room and went over to Iago to see what he was looking at.

“I didn’t expect you back until late,” said Iago, without taking his eyes off the plans.

“Nobody was in the mood to argue over the finer points of legislation. They all wanted to leave as soon as they could, so they’d have enough time to visit their unofficial lover as well as having dinner with whom they’re meant to be going out with. The especially unfaithful throw names into a hat and draw two out,” said Uvanov.

“How did the vote go?” enquired Iago.

“Better than expected. Merven Ennez was murdered earlier, leaving his faction like a bunch of headless chickens. They fell for my most sincere, heartfelt condolences over his death and their votes were mine. Do you have any idea who could have killed Ennez?” asked Uvanov, innocently.

Iago grinned. “What can I say - he made a pass at me.”

“While your fidelity to me is sweet, you can’t go around killing everyone who has no respect for our marriage vows. They’d be no one left.”

“Ennez made some uncomplimentary remarks about you.”

“They’d be no one left if you shot everyone who didn’t have anything nice to say about me, either.”

“Ennez said he wouldn’t have made a pass if I had two Amazonians hanging off each arm and not a partner who was only Amazonian in temperament. I took exception to being told who I should fall in love with.”

“And, of course, it was a coincidence you happened to be in Ennez’s greenhouse on Valentine’s Day, because you know how irritating he’s been in opposing all my policies and you thought it would be a nice gesture to shut him up for me,” said Uvanov, shrewdly.

“The thought never crossed my mind. I can barely remember you mentioning him,” deadpanned Iago. He was lying. Although, during one particularly long rant about Ennez by Uvanov, Iago had pulled off the impressive trick of falling asleep with his eyes open. “What’s in the leather folder?” Iago pointed at the object in Uvanov’s left hand.

“Ah, yes,” said Uvanov, shyly. He briefly moved the item behind his back, before putting it on the desk in front of Iago. “It’s a data-pad, to replace your old one.”

Iago took the device out of it‘s case. “I thought we weren’t buying each other gifts. I don’t need a new data-pad.”

“It’s not a gift as such - your old one broke. It would’ve been rude not to buy a replacement, after I borrowed it.”

Iago was puzzled. “It’s a practically indestructible model, guaranteed to withstand the toughest of conditions.”

“Was it?” Uvanov widened his eyes to fain surprise. “I’m afraid you’ve been conned. I accidentally knocked it to the floor and it smashed to pieces. Nothing’s made to last these days is it?”

“Rull told me Cotton was hit on the head by a data-pad, outside Company Central this afternoon. He had to go to A&E. Rull reckoned it must’ve been thrown from a great height. Your office is on the top floor isn’t it?”

“There are many offices on the top floor - it’s a very large building,” said Uvanov, swiftly. He was eager to move the conversation along. “And look at the features the pad has: it’ll change sketches into professional, technical drawings - that’ll be useful when you come up with a security measure in the middle of the night, a built in lie-detector, a camera that can scan for concealed weapons, a handy slot for a mini stun-kill…”

“I presume you had to get a replacement quickly, so why do you know the specifications off by heart?”

“Er, a salesman happened to be visiting. His sales patter was very catchy,” lied Uvanov, lamely. “Do you like the brushed gold finish? I know you aren’t keen on the usual gaudy finishes.” 

“It is a beautiful finish and I’m touched at the effort you went to get me a data-pad, with the kind of software that would appeal to me, but I don’t need a lie detector to tell me you planned a while back to buy me this for Valentine’s Day.”

“We’ve failed at not celebrating Valentine’s Day haven’t we?” said Uvanov, admitting defeat.

“I think we should give in to the spirit of the day - it’s not turned midnight yet. There’s a few hours left.”

“It’s too late to go out for a meal - the restaurants are all fully booked.”

“I’d prefer to skip to what happens after dinner,” hinted Iago.

“What - an Irish coffee and an after-dinner mint? Have we any chocolate orange left? I’m sick of mints,” said Uvanov, a little petulantly.

“After that,” said Iago, patiently.

“Ah!” said Uvanov, as the penny dropped.

“Ah,” mimicked Iago affectionately and leaned over to kiss him.


End file.
